The Woman, the Diamond, and the Pariah
by AColorfulMind
Summary: 3 clues. 3 encounters. Moriarty has a mystery for Sherlock's teenage daughter to solve. While he's distracted by The Woman, Moriarty's plan to burn him is set into action. Etheldrea Holmes is about to discover a 17 year old secret, and her world may come crashing down. Sequel to Faults in Personality.
1. The Speckled Blonde Part 1

**Welcome back to the wonderful world of Etheldrea Holmes. If this is your first time reading her name, then you can read the first two stories in her series, The Detective's Daughter, and Faults in Personality. I recommend you read them, but it is not necessary. **

**Forgive my knowledge, or lack of, on certain subjects including snakes, slang, and how tons of things work. There will probably be a lot. If you can help clear anything up, I will do my best not to make the same mistake again.**

**I do not own anything of Sherlock Holmes, only my characters. Concerning the cover, canon characters Sherlock, Irene, and Moriarty are played by their actors. The model Emily Rudd is the face for Etheldrea, and Naomi Watts is the face for a mystery character that won't be introduced for a while yet. 5 points and a virtual cookie if you can guess who.**

* * *

Cool, calm, and quiet would describe the morning at 221B Baker Street. A dark haired detective named Sherlock Holmes was sulking in the living room, his light haired flat mate, friend and blogger looking through cases for them to do. Each one was either boring or not worth his time, and so John was getting as equally frustrated. In her room to the left of the landing, was the detective's dark (nearly completely black due to a case about two months ago) haired daughter. Etheldrea Holmes was on her bed, currently reading Rambles in Germany and Italy which kept her from going as insane as the other two.

The past week there had been absolutely nothing. No new cases or crimes or anything for them to do. The first two weeks of summer break had been exciting for sure, but now there wasn't anything to do, and John had hid his gun so Sherlock was even more in a mood. The last big case they had was just a few days ago when they went on that cruise. Of course, now the owners were trying to sue them, but Mycroft had it all worked out.

Plus, John had begun a scrapbook (though he wouldn't call it that) of the cases, well most of them. Right now he had A Study in Pink, The Blind Banker, and The Great Game. And both Holmes had gone out of their way to let him know what they thought. Sherlock had gone for yellow sticky notes to record his responses while Etheldrea had chosen purple.

The only way she could escape boredom was hanging out with her friend Abigail Grey. Last month, school ended and summer vacation finally began. She wouldn't have to deal with any bullies for a few months, no teachers ignoring her, and most certainly there was a lot of running around London with Abby. Her friends parents weren't too keen on it, but they knew they couldn't' kept her caged in all summer. They could only pretend she was shopping with her other friends.

It wasn't like they were searching out anyone in particular, but if she saw something, Etheldrea wasn't going to hesitate. She did try to make sure Abigail was involved as little as possible though, but when danger calls, Abigail was always ready. So far, the girls had alerted the police to three drug rings, two burglars, and one flasher, an event that quite possibly scarred the girls for life.

From downstairs there was a knocking on the door, urgent and loud. Etheldrea perked up, and set the book down. DI Lestrade was climbing up the stairs, greeting Etheldrea and entering into the living room.

"A young woman's dead. We need you."

"How?"

"No clue. She's covered in these red dots, nothing that the doctors can figure out."

"Break in?"

"No sign. Her sister and stepfather found her passed out on the floor. She died on the way."

"Will her family be ready to talk?"

"The sister will. The stepfather's still at the scene. They're getting ready to leave now. You can question him there. Will you come?"

"We'll follow behind."

* * *

Etheldrea stood with Lestrade, writing down any information they would need. Right now, all they had so far was the victim's name, and her family who they would talk to as soon as they were finished.

Sherlock and John stood over Julia Stoner as they examined her. Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass to look at the speckles that covered her body.

"Do people actually read your website?" he asked John.

"Where do you think our clients come from?"

"I have a website."

"In which you innumerate four hundred and twenty types of tobacco ash. Nobody's treading your website. Alright then, dyed blonde hair, no obvious cause of death except these speckles, whatever they are."

Both men had straightened, and Etheldrea noticed her dad looked a bit tense. He turned while John wasn't paying attention and walked right out of the lab.

"Hold on, there are some bite marks on her ankles. If I could get a blood toxicology report, we could figure out what it is. It looks like a snake, but how many times do you hear about loose snakes in London?"

"Escaped from the zoo?" Etheldrea asked.

"I'll call and see when we get home. Where did your dad go?"

"Not entirely sure. Just outside I think." She smirked, "He seemed a bit sullen at what you said."

"Well, it is true. Yesterday you admitted to me that even the tobacco ash report put you to sleep."

"Come on you two." Lestrade said, "Miss Stoner's sister is waiting to give her report of what happened."

The pair followed him outside the morgue and to a small waiting room where Sherlock already was. Etheldrea stood in the corner of the room, notebook at the ready. Sherlock sat at the table with Helen Stoner, the twin sister of their victim. Her eyes were red but dry for she had been crying a lot recently. But she was ready to talk.

"Tell me about how you found your sister." Sherlock said.

"I couldn't sleep last night. I was tossing and turning, trying anything to get to sleep. I was incredibly anxious, and I felt like something bad was going to happen. Around one this morning, I heard the sound of banging from my sister's room. Like, she had dropped something. I didn't think anything of it. She had just come back from the pub with some mates, she wasn't completely drunk but she could have been buzzed. However, a few minutes later, I heard more banging like she had dumped her entire vanity on the floor. I was suspicious and decided to get up and check on her. Our stepfather, whom we live with, he was also coming out of his room. I tried knocking, but she didn't answer. I tried calling her name, banging on the door, nothing. It was locked, so I went to the kitchen to get a butter knife. When I opened the door she was on the floor, passed out and covered in these spots. I went to call for an ambulance, but she was gone before they even reached the hospital."

"How had she been acting into the past few weeks?"

"She had been rundown a lot, tired. She was supposed to get married soon, and we figured she had been stressed about the wedding."

"Thank you, if we need anything else, we'll be in touch."

Sherlock was out of the room in a flash, leaving the other two behind in his dust. The three of them were supposed to go back to Bart's and wait for the toxicology report, but when they met Molly; she told them he hadn't shown up. A short while later there was an unidentified poison in their victim's blood stream, and the possibility of it being a snake was looking more and more likely. When John and Etheldrea were back in Baker Street, they found Sherlock on John's laptop.

"Do you always have to use mine? Can't you use your own?"

Ignoring the question completely, "I've been looking into the Stoner's history. Their mother remarried when the girls were two, to a Doctor Roylott. Eight years ago, she died in a train accident outside London. Their stepfather is the owner of a cosmetics company. Even appeared on Connie Prince's show a few times."

Etheldrea nodded, "I think I remember that."

"Julia Stoner was going to be married to a man named Percy Armitage. I think we should go see them, they could be suspects."

John said, "Our victim was bit by something, most likely a snake. Why would we need suspects?"

"It was murder John, I know it was; I just have to figure out how."

"Well, you do that. Etheldrea and I are going to call around for an escaped snake."

"If a snake escaped, it'd be on the news."

John grabbed a dictionary and his phone and set to work. Etheldrea did the same. Unfortunately, no nearby zoo was missing their reptiles, and Sherlock was getting more and more impatient.

"OK, now that you've had your fun, we're going to go start investigating a real crime."

* * *

Doctor Roylott was a very tall, wrinkly, large faced man with thin crinkly eyes, and red skin. He was sat in wooden rocking chair, a tissue in one hand to blot his face.

"Forgive me; it's such a terrible thing. Julia is- was like a daughter to me, I've taken care of her for so long. I held her in my arms while we waited, I tried-. It wasn't enough."

John said, "Dr. Roylott, could you please tell us what happened?"

"I thought Helen already told you?"

"Yes, but we'd like to hear it from your point of view."

"I had been sleeping when this crashing woke me up. I got out of bed, and went into the hallway. Helen was already at Julia's door and knocked. We didn't hear anything else, so we tried calling her name. Helen went to get a knife, and when she opened the door Julia was on the floor. I tried to wake her up, but she wasn't responding. She was so cold, and the spots or speckles on her skin-"

Roylott broke off into a sob, blowing his nose loudly into his tissue. They waited a minute before asking him anything else.

"Could we please see Julia's room?"

"Of course. The third door to the left, just down there."

Her room was still in its disarray state. The bedding was crumpled on the floor, and near it were a few bottles of lotion. Across the room was an even bigger mess. Bottle littered the area around a mirror. Sherlock bent down and examined the area. Etheldrea saw where their victim had been lying, a section of perfumes and bottles were pushed together. A few other bottles were surrounding the area.

"She was looking for something." She said.

"How do you know?" John asked.

"It could have been an accident, not able to hold herself up, but the bottles tell a different story. Some of these are ways away, like she had thrown them behind her."

Sherlock added, "The blanket she used, thrown on the floor like that. Look at the way it's folded. She stood up and it pooled at her feet, if she had tossed it off it would at least be a bit more spread out. I think she realized what was happening to her, and was looking for the source."

"But, it was a snake or something like one. She had the bite marks on her ankle." John said.

"Think John, a snake bites you and you wouldn't shout in pain?"

"Well, maybe she had high pain endurance."

"Besides, how would a snake get in and out without being seen?"

"That's . . . you have a point.

"Come on, I have a few more questions."

Sherlock walked out quickly, back to the living room where Dr. Roylott hadn't moved.

"Doctor, do you or your step-daughters have any pets?"

"No, none"

"Was Julia adventures, ready to go for a wooden hike or anything outdoors."

"Hardly. She hates- hated nature."

"What about animals? Did she want pets; say a dog, cat, reptile?"

"No, most certainly not reptiles. Her fiancé takes care of a whole bunch. I thought it would cause a big riff between them when. They first started dating, but it didn't. They worked it out, granted she hardly went over there."

"Would you mind writing down the address? We'd like to talk with him too."

"Of course, give me a minute." He said as he grabbed a pen and paper.

He scribbled the address down, gave it to them, and then stood up and walked towards a closet. He pulled out three bottles with a white lotion into them.

He handed them over and said, "Please, take these. They're not available in stores yet. A token of my gratitude. I've read the blog, and I'm sure you'll figure why my Julia died."

Afterwards, they left and grabbed a cab to go to Percy Armitage's house. On the way, Etheldrea tried some of her lotion.

"It smells like jasmine and orange blossom." She noted.

"Roylott said that Julia's fiancé owned a lot of reptiles. It could be possible she was bit by something over there." John said.

"If she was, why would she be looking for anything on her dresser?" Sherlock asked.

"What do you think happened? If we're going over to her finances, aren't we looking for a reptile?"

"Close. The mystery poison. It could have come from there."

"We'll see soon."

The house the cab stopped at wasn't huge, or small. It was slightly run down, and seemed to be in the middle of repairs to the roof. Sherlock and Etheldrea stood back while John rang the doorbell.

"_Come in."_ was the muffled response.

The group opened the door and walked inside. The entrance way was slightly dim as thick multicolored curtains covered the windows. A bright red rug lead the way down the hall where they heard muffled banging, like boxes being dropped on the floor. They started to walk in that direction, but Etheldrea's boot heel caught and she fell into the wall and hit the curtain.

She felt a weight drop onto her shoulders and thought it was the curtain, but that was wrong since the lighting had not changed. John had just sworn, and Sherlock was holding his hand up to tell her to stop and stay still. Both looked remarkably worried, and Sherlock nodded for her to look down.

Cautious, she lowered her gaze and came face to face with the hissing, black and brown snout of an Adder.


	2. The Speckled Blonde Part 2

**Happy Sherlock Day! Our boys are finally going to be back together! Are you ready for the heartbreak? I'm not. Maybe this chapter will make things better, but probably not. Truth be told, I had hoped to have been onto the sixth story in this series already, but I realized there is a lot I don't know that I need to know, so I started developing and adding more into the Etheldrea plot and it's turned into something a lot bigger than I thought it was going to be. It's been just over a year since I started Etheldrea's tale, and it's been fantastic. There's still much more to come and much more to grow and change. Thank you to anyone and everyone who's followed, favourited, reviews, and read this story. Thank you for being part of this madness.**

Etheldrea didn't move an inch. The snake began to drape it's self around her neck, not at all constricting her. Then it lifted it's head to her cheek and licked her.

At that moment, a very bushy bearded brunette man came dashing in. He grabbed the snake which wrapped itself around his arm. He looked back and forth apologetically at the three of them. The beardy man was very thing, dressed in a ragged brown shirt and blue jeans. He also had a red scratch mark across his forehead. Despite the smile, which seemed rather fake, his eyes were rimmed red.

"Sorry for the scare, Lucy loves climbing, but most of the time she's not very good at hanging on. Now, who are you?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes. This is Dr. John Watson, and Etheldrea Holmes."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Percy Armitage. I thought you might have been my mate Robert. He said he was coming over today for- well, he said he was coming over today. Can I help you with anything?"

"We'd like to talk to you about Julia."

"Ah, right. Follow me; we can talk in the living room."

Mr. Armitage led them down the hall and into a room with a few brightly lit tanks that each held a snake. He told them to take a seat on the couch in the room while he went to another room and put "Lucy" back in her own tank. He came back and took a seat across from them.

"Again, sorry about Lucy. She's always escaping. So, what do you want to know?"

"How often did you see Julia in the past few weeks?"

"Often enough. We'd meet after work four or five times a week and go to her house for dinner. I'd call her on the days that we didn't see each other."

"Her house? Never here?"

"Nah, she hated the snakes. Creeped her out a bunch. I was starting to move all of them into the back room for when we were . . . married."

"When was the last time she was here?"

"Around midnight last night. She had just been drinking with her friends. She dropped off some papers for me."

The three of them looked at each other, Sherlock with a smirk on his face.

John asked, "On her ankle, we found two suspicious marks. Is it possible that Julia was bitten by one of the snakes?"

"No, not at all. She would have told me."

"Do you have any snakes that would have gotten outside?"

"Not at all. None of mine like to go outside."

Sherlock stood up, and asked harshly, "Then what could have happened?"

Narrowing his eyes, Percy Armitage stood up, "Are you implying something?"

"Oh I don't know. It just seems suspicious that your fiancé dies of a snake bite, and you happen to own a lot of snakes. What about Lucy? She's an Adder. I doubt she's the only poisonous snake you've got. What of that scar on your face, looks like someone fighting back."

"I would never hurt Julia, never. I love her! Lucy's harmless. All of the snakes are. And this scar? Hit my head against a picture frame in the kitchen. My mate Ben can tell you that, he was here for most of the night, saw Julia too. He didn't leave until about three. Mr. Holmes, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

John stood up and quickly got between both men, nodding towards Percy.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Armitage. I never intended-"

"Just get him out."

The three left just as a man came up to the door. Probably the friend Mr. Armitage had been expecting. Down the road, Sherlock called for a cab, looking infuriated.

"It _had_ to be him, I was so sure."

"But it's not, dad. There's something we're missing."

"Yes, but what!?"

* * *

The next few days were stressful to say the least. Sherlock was completely convinced it was murder. Something didn't sit right with him, and he was nothing but an irritable bastard. He was wearing John, and especially Etheldrea out.

They had talked with all of the friends Julia had been out with, and none of them had the right motive, or desire to kill her. Percy Armitage was definitely out, and every other suspects they had hit a brick wall. Several times they talked with Helen Stoner about Julia, but nothing new ever turned up. Julia had kept a rather unchanged schedule, and never did much else. Especially since she had been feeling ill, the fact that she had gone out with friends had been a rare treat for her.

All day they had been running around, trying to find anyone and their brother who knew was connected to Julia and if they had snakes, poison, or motive to kill. Nothing had turned up, not even with help from Sherlock's Homeless network. They hadn't stopped to eat, and John was getting cross. He had practically threatened Sherlock that if he didn't get to eat soon, all manners of weapons, experiments, and technology would be thrown out the window or hidden. No gunshots, experiments, or cases.

John was the only one who ordered anything. Sherlock sat quietly, his hands in a prayer position as he thought.

"Aren't you hungry Etheldrea? You haven't eaten anything since breakfast. And even then, that was little." John asked her.

She shook her head, "I'm not hungry."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure."

"Yes!" she practically shouted, and then pinched the bridge of her nose, "Sorry. I am sorry. I'm fine, just tired."

Sherlock looked at her sharply, taking in her appearance and movement. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she had dark bags under them. One hand was lightly shaking while the other was holding hear head, indicating a slight headache.

The moment John paid his bill; Sherlock dragged them out and to Helen's apartment. The poor woman was sitting with one hand on her head, glaring annoyed at the Detective as he asked her the same questions again.

"She never deviated, not once?"

"No."

"She hadn't mentioned anyone suspicious?"

"Not once."

"She didn't receive any weird phone calls, letters, anything?"

"No! Mr. Holmes, I've told you everything I know. Please, even the police are beginning to-"

"I'm better than the police Miss Stoner."

She stood up and went to grab a bottle of aspirin. Snippily, she replied, "So you've said. But you're asking the same thing, and I'm giving the same answer. We aren't getting anywhere, are we?"

Her tone shocked herself a bit, as she closed her eyes and took a breath.

"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes. You're only trying to help. I've just not been feeling well these past few days."

"How?" Etheldrea asked.

"Just run down, tired."

"Like your sister."

"Like you, Etheldrea." Sherlock said.

"But neither of us was bitten by a snake."

"Unless the bite was faked to throw us off."

Helen's eyes went wide, and her hands started shaking. The thought that she was next terrified her.

Sherlock suddenly stood up, "I have an idea. Miss Stoner, I need to know a few things."

"What?"

"First, when will your stepfather be home?"

"I'd say not until well after midnight. Ever since . . . he's been out and about, hardly stops by home anymore. Only to check on me."

"Good, I don't want anyone walking in on us. I need to do a walkthrough of Julia's room. I need to know everything she did before and after she went out."

"Alright. Nothing's been moved, not since . . ."

"Perfect. There's a poison. Somewhere in this house. We've been here enough times that Etheldrea could easily come into contact with it." He said.

"What?" Etheldrea asked.

"Both you and Miss Stoner display the same symptoms. While we're here, I need you to recreate every movement you've made in that house."

"If they've been poisoned, who'd put it there?" John asked.

"I have a guess. I won't be sure until I have the evidence."

Sherlock had Miss Stoner show him through everything Julia did and would have done the night. John in turn followed Etheldrea while she made note of everything she may have touched.

"Nothing much, actually. I walked in, and head straight for the kitchen. While we're here, I don't move or anything. I sit in listen. I don't understand what could have happened." She muttered, mainly to herself.

"You haven't eaten anything. You've barely touched anything. How can it be that you're just as worse as Helen when she's been here longer than you?" John asked.

"I'm not sure. Maybe whatever it is has been replenished."

"Ok. So, you walk in. Do you touch the walls, or bumped a shelf, coat?"

"No, nothing. I keep my hands to myself."

"What about in the kitchen?"

"On the table, the chair, I think only once I stood and went to the sink."

"What about the bathroom?"

"Twice."

"Ok, what soaps did you use, if you used any I hope?"

"I did. Just generic store brand pumps. But it was nearly new when I used it."

Sherlock called both their names and in Julia's room they found him examining all the bottles in the room. When he saw them enter he began throwing random bottles their way. Miss Stoner appeared with a paper bag to hold more.

"We're taking all of these to Bart's." he said as he grabbed bottles and placed them in his coat.

"The police aren't going to like you taking evidence." John said.

"They also aren't going to like two more dead women, so I think we should choose our battles wisely. Miss Stoner, would you like to accompany us? Results most likely won't be in until early tomorrow morning, but you'd have an answer quite fast."

"No thanks. I believe I'll stay with one of my friends tonight. However, if you give me a time, I'll meet you there."

"Five am?"

"Sure. I hope you find something Mr. Holmes."

* * *

Julia Stoner had to have had nearly a hundred bottles of perfumes, lotions, body gels, shampoos, conditions, and more. Going through the process of analyzing everything was a job that only Sherlock and Molly were working on. John had attempted to help, but after an hour, he started to fall asleep at the microscope, annoying Sherlock.

Etheldrea also had attempted to help, but it seemed she was getting worse and worse, and so when her hands slipped a bit, and she dropped a slide (only on the table, not able to break it) Sherlock told her and John to go back to Baker Street, and to come back when they were fit enough to help. However, Etheldrea was determined to help, and thus began an argument between the father and daughter.

"You're not needed if you're going to be dropping everything, and hardly able to keep your eyes open."

"I just need some coffee, maybe an aspirin."

"You need to leave."

"I'm fine!"

"Etheldrea, don't argue with me."

"I am perfectly fine!"

He scoffed, "Hardly. Have you seen yourself? You need to go back to Baker Street."

"I won't. One slip up is hard- hardly-" she began to sway.

John was close by and swiftly grabbed her, lowering her to the ground. Molly was by her side in an instant, also worried. She tried to push them away and say she was fine, but was stopped when he grabbed her by the wrist. Then she noticed what decorated the back of her hand. Red speckles.

She twisted her hand out of his grip, pushed back her sleeve, and looked it over. Her backhand, her palm, and her forearm. None went past her elbow, and she immediately knew what the cause was.

"Let me up." She said.

Molly helped steady her, and Etheldrea began searching through her messenger bag. She shook her head, murmuring to herself, _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ From the bag, she pulled out a clear bottle, half empty of a white lotion. She tossed it to Sherlock.

"While you're at it, try testing that."

"Is that the lotion the girl's stepfather gave you?" John asked.

"Yes. I'm sure when I look at my legs; there'll be more speckles also."

"But why would Dr. Roylott want to poison you, or his stepdaughters?"

"We'll have to ask him." She shook her head again and huffed, "Can I please go six months without almost dying?"

In the end, John and Etheldrea did not go back to Baker Street. John slept at a table, his head probed up by his hand. Etheldrea thoroughly scrubbed her skin before taking a seat at the table once more. It was half an hour before they had some story of the poison.

It was still unknown, some snake belonging god knows where. But it had been placed in the lotion give to Etheldrea, and to John and Sherlock who had never touched them. Also, it was in the bottle of bubble bath that had been sitting on Julia's vanity. Perhaps, like Etheldrea, she had seen the speckles locations, and immediately knew what was to blame. She had been searching for the bottle, wanting to use it as evidence. It would take some time, but the effects would eventually wear off, and the girl's would be fine.

They only had to wait another hour for Helen Stoner to arrive. When she did, Sherlock didn't exactly break the news to her gently. She had a bottle of body wash from her stepdad that she had been using every day, though not as much as it appeared Etheldrea had used with her lotion. The contents should have been safe; her stepfather had assured her that. But it seemed lying was nothing new to Dr. Roylott, and Helen could scarcely believe her stepfather had murdered her sister, and was attempting to do the same to her.

Sherlock walked briskly out of the lab, leaving a sobbing Helen to be comforted by Molly. Etheldrea followed behind, giving an apologetic half-smile, while John shook his head. He told Helen that they would go talk her stepfather and bring him in. Then he ran after pair as they got a cab. Once there, Sherlock took the key he had "borrowed" from Helen, and opened the door.

* * *

John was typing up the last of the case on his blog. Sadly, it had a tragic end. Sherlock had found Dr. Roylott hanging from a light fixture in the kitchen. Suicide no doubt about it. Utterly frustrating Sherlock, there was no note and no indication why he had put poison in the lotion and gels.

Said man walked into the room, holding a sandwich and the newspaper. Curiously, he walked over to where John was and looked at the title. Immediately, he scowled.

"Oh for god's sakes, The Speckled Blonde?" he asked through a mouthful.

Then he went and lay down on the couch, ignoring them for a while. Etheldrea, sat across from John, smirked as she filled in a logic puzzle. In a matter of days, she was back to normal, and the spots disappeared soon after. Sadly, the sharpie she had used to connect all of the dots still littered her skin. At the time she did, she was still worn from the poison, and hardly cared that she was using a sharpie. Just utterly bored with some form of writing utensil near her. John was relentlessly picking on her about it, and Sherlock never said anything, but smirked every time he saw her arms.

Soon after he hit enter, John refreshed the page of his blog, and was immediately surprised at the amount of hits it had.

"Over a hundred within a minute." He said proudly.

Etheldrea rolled her eyes and thought sarcastically to herself.

_Next we'll be appearing on the news._


	3. Internet Fame and Italy

**Have you seen Sherlock? Have you laughed, cried, bounced out of your seats and hit your head on your bed frame by accident, I know I have. No spoilers of course, but the first two episodes were fantastic for me. They were definitely what I needed after these past two years.**

**Do I know anything about Italy, festivals that happen, the language, and the culture? Only what I can research, so that means what you'll be reading will probably be all wrong. There is no Terrazzera Festival of the Arts to my knowledge. And I'm not even sure what to call the area I think it should take place in, so that's made up too. Italian language was made by google translator. A lot of this will probably be made up for the sake of plot, and happy times, and you'll be seeing a lot of happy times because we've got some sad stuff coming. Not only in this story but also today. Good luck everyone, and here's to hoping we get a happier ending of S3 then what we're expecting.**

And that's exactly what happened. Clients started coming in from everywhere. There were a few good cases, like a man being killed by his flat mate. There were a few bad ones, like when a man who had driven his ex-girlfriend to suicide disappeared. Then, there were dreadfully boring ones.

* * *

"_My wife's been spending a very long time at the office."_

"_Boring."_

* * *

"_I think my husband might be having an affair."_

"_Yes."_

* * *

_We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files."_

"_Boring."_

* * *

And a couple of weird ones.

* * *

"_She's not my real aunt, she's been replaced. I know she has. I know human ash."_

"_Leave."_

* * *

And then there were a few that Etheldrea was prepared to smack her dad upside the head.

* * *

"_They wouldn't let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that 'cause he'd gone to heaven?"_

"_People don't really go to heaven when they die, they're taken to a special room and burned."_

"_Sherlock." John warned._

_Face palming, Etheldrea muttered, "Dad."_

* * *

But there were a couple interesting ones too. Something rather exciting happened on the first day of August. Lestrade had called them in on a body that should have been on a plane.

"There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday." Lestrade explained, "Everyone dead."

"Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news." Sherlock said.

"You said 'boring' and turned over." John stated.

Lestrade showed them the body in the boot, "Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board. Inside his coat he's got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here's his passport, stamped in Berlin airport. So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday, but instead he's in a car boot in Southwark."

"Lucky escape." Sherlock said as he examined the dead man.

"Any ideas?"

"Eight so far . . . Okay, four ideas . . . Maybe two ideas."

* * *

"No, no, no, don't mention the unsolved ones!"

"People want to know you're human."

"Why?"

"Because they're interested."

"No they're not. Why are they?"

"Hmm. Look at that. One thousand, eight hundred, and ninety-five."

"Sorry, what?"

"I reset that counter last night. This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. _This is_ your living Sherlock, not two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash."

"Two hundred and forty three." He muttered darkly, slipping his goggles on and lighting the torch.

Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen, and a while later, the smoke detector near John's room was going off. John made a beeline for upstairs while Etheldrea went for Mrs. Hudson downstairs. The girls waited outside until both Sherlock and John came out, the latter seething. Sherlock had set fire to John's dresser and started one of the drawers on fire.

* * *

Nothing seemed to calm down after that. For the next two weeks, it was case after case. Etheldrea hardly saw Abigail anymore, although they texted each other constantly. They were getting more and more known around London, and eventually the country. They were being called the web detectives.

"So what's this one? 'Bellybutton Murders'?" Sherlock asked as they left a theater.

"The Navel Treatment?" John suggested, earning a groan from Sherlock.

Lestrade met them as they made their way to the side exit, "There's a lot of press outside, guys."

"Well, they won't be interested in us."

"Yeah that was before you were an internet phenomenon. Couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you three."

"For God's sake!" Sherlock said.

Noticing something, he ducked into a room and grabbed something. He then tossed an item each to John and Etheldrea. A rather ugly, dark blue, teardrop shaped hat with black accents, it looked like something to have been worn during the Victorian era.

"Cover your face and walk fast."

"Still, good for the public image, big case like this." Lestrade said.

"I'm a private detective, the last thing I need is a public image!"

The next day, the headlines on the newspaper announced them as Hat-man, Hat-Girl, and Robin. Etheldrea loathed it completely, and put full blame on Sherlock. A few days later, she was still glowering. It didn't stop her, however, from watching him like a hawk. He and John had both been planning something. Just yesterday she had come back to Baker Street after a much needed day out with Abigail.

Sherlock and John had been talking in hushed whispers, arguing over what appeared to be a map, but of where she didn't know because it had been ducked out of her site as soon as she cleared the door. A few days before that, she noticed her father doing calculations almost like he had been comparing prices to something.

Today it seemed harder for John to try and keep whatever they were doing secret. He was trying far too hard for everything to seem normal, and his only salvation was when Sherlock entered the room.

Etheldrea saw that he was carrying a thin, white paper, purple ribbon wrapped present. He set it down on the table in front of her, and both he and John looked expectantly at her.

Curiously, she asked, "What for?"

"It's not about the hat. That was hardly my fault. It's an early birthday present."

"Where are we going?" She asked as she opened the paper.

"What makes you think that?"

"My birthdays not until November. You know I like to spend the entire day out. If it was an object, you'd give it to me either that early morning or late night. If it was a dinner or something like that, it'd be a few days before or after. School starts in about two weeks, always a nice time for a vacation. Not to mention the map I saw you too had."

She lifted the top and took out a folder, and a small booklet that she recognized as a travel plan that she had created a very long time ago. Upon opening the folder, she found an itinerary version of the booklet, and brochures showing breathtaking views of countryside's, busy cities, and people in colorful masks and costumes. Upon seeing them, she knew exactly what where they were going, but it didn't stop her from taking out the train ticket and ghosting her hands over them almost unbelieving of it.

"Italy?" She asked, looking up with a large grin.

Sherlock smiled also and nodded, "Yes. Forgive me for sneaking out your travel planner, but I needed to know exactly what we were doing."

Etheldrea shook her head, looking back at the ticket, "No problem, not at all. This is- two weeks? Really?"

"Yes, is that alright?" He asked.

"It's perfect, but what about cases? You'll go crazy."

"Not according to that itinerary. Plenty of things to see, do, and who knows, anyone could die suspiciously. It seems the three of us won't have a moment's rest."

"Three?" She asked excitedly, "John, you're coming too?"

He smiled, "Of course. We all need a vacation."

* * *

Etheldrea was nearly positive she was dreaming. She had wanted to go to Italy for as long as she could remember and now here she was, standing on a balcony in Hotel Gabrielli Sandwirth, overlooking the docks, and feeling the sun shine on her face. Looking down she saw people moseying about, eating and shopping, and boats sailing thorough brilliant blue water.

"Well," Sherlock asked, coming out to stand by her, "Like what you see?"

"_Like_? It's absolutely beautiful here. I wouldn't trade anything for this."

"And just think, we're still going to see Florence and Rome."

She bounced a bit on her toes, "I know! I'm so excited. Dad, this is amazing, thank you."

"Of course," he said smiling, "Now come on. We'll see if John's ready, and then we'll go see what this art festival is all about."

A while later, they were walking to Terrazzera Plaza. Etheldrea was turning in circles as she walked, trying to take in everything she saw.

"So, Terrazzera Festival of the Arts today, what's tomorrow?" John asked.

"Touring the canals, maybe some shopping." Etheldrea said, "Then the next day we're going to St. Mark's Square. We're going to see Campanile. I hope we can hear the bells, I bet they'll be beautiful!"

The plaza was filled with people dancing, drinking, and having fun. The performance dancers, artists, and musicians were spread around the edges and center by some trees. As the sun was setting, the area glowed gold and red accompanied by colored lights. A large group of people had begun dancing in a circle, and Etheldrea was eager to join. But John had stated towards a food vendor, and she realized how hungry she was. The trio grabbed some food and wandered around, watching dancers, listening to music, and admiring the paintings and sculptures on display.

Soon after they were done, Etheldrea found the circle had broken apart and everyone was dancing with their friends now. Luckily for her though, Sherlock took her hand and pulled her towards the center, spinning and waltzing around with John on looking, and taking pictures. In no time, he was pulled into the dance with them.

When they finally got back to their hotel a few hours later, both Etheldrea and John were visibly beat but all three were fast asleep within minutes. The next morning brought the three of them on an entire tour of the city, and once again that night they all fell fast asleep.

St. Mark's Square was next, as was Campanile. Like she had hoped, the bells were ringing as they waited in line for the lift. Ringing right above the crowd, they were incredibly loud but also made a wonderful music. Everyone was looking up above, and didn't the notice the two man by the lift that seemed to be having an argument. Etheldrea however, was distracted by them and watched as one man shoved another, hard enough that something fell out of his hands, but not enough to cause attention. Then, the doors opened and they were gone.

A few minutes later, and the bell tolling had stopped, the three were next to board the lift. Etheldrea looked towards the ground and noticed very close to the doors, three tiny white ovals, each no bigger than a finger nail. She bent down and picked them up to find cameo jewels.

"Look at this." She said.

"Where did those come from?" John asked.

"I saw two men arguing. I think one of them dropped these."

"Well, we'll find them and give them back."

At that moment, the doors opened and a crowd pilled in. Up in the top of the bell tower, the view of the entire city surrounded them. From one side, Etheldrea saw the islands and water, and from another nothing but rooftops. Over another, she saw the Square and all its activity buzzing about. However, once again, she was distracted by two men arguing, the same two men.

"Ora vedete che cosa hai fatto? Tre pezzi mancano, ed è tutta colpa tua!" _Now do you see what you've done? Three pieces are missing, and it's all your fault!_

"Ma papà, ho cercato-" _But papa, I have been trying-_

"Siamo venuti tutta la strada da Roma solo a perdere la merce. Cosa direbbe tua madre?" _We came all the way from Rome only to lose merchandise. What would your mother say?_

"Mi dispiace-" _I am sorry-_

"Ha lavorato duro su quei pezzi, e tu li hai perso. Ero abbastanza bello portare qui lo stavano ristrutturando so quanto hai voluto vedere Vencie da Campanilie, e questo è come mi ripaghi?" _She worked hard on those pieces, and you've lost them. I was nice enough to bring you here becasue I know how much you've wanted to see Venice from Campanile, and this is how you repay me?_

The father turned on his heel and walked away. The son, looking dejected turned towards the window, sighing as he looked at a thin, small, wooden box. Etheldrea looked at the cameos in her hand and back at the man, and then walked over.

"Mi scusi signore, non ho potuto fare più di udito", "E 'questa la merce mancante che cercavi? Li ho trovati sul pavimento vicino all'ascensore". _Pardon me sir couldn't help over hearing. Is this the missing merchandise you were looking for? I found them on the floor near the elevator._

"Grazie signora, questo è meraviglioso. Come posso ripagare?" _Thank you ma'am, this is wonderful. How can I repay you?_

"In realtà,, vorrei acquistare uno di questi cammei." _Actually, I would like to buy one of these cameos._

"Certo. Quale?" _Of course. Which one?_

She chose a small charm that could pin to her shirt and paid him.

"Sono assolutamente bellissima. Dove li ottenete?" _They're absolutely beautiful. Where do you get them?_

"Mia madre fa questi. Suo padre le ha insegnato prima di andare a combattere nella Seconda Guerra Mondiale. Apprently spesso praticato l'abilità sul suo tempo verso il basso, e ha fatto molto per il suo equipaggio." _My mother makes these. Her father taught her before he went to fight in World War II. Apprently he often practiced the skill on his down time, and made lots for his crew._

"Davvero? Che è incredibile!" _Really? That's amazing!_

"Sì, è vero? La sua squadra è stata soprannominata la Cammei Vaticano dal momento che sempre li indossavano." _Yeah, it is isn't it? His team was nicknamed the Vatican Cameos since they always wore them._

«Perché Vaticano?" _Why Vatican?_

"La maggior parte di loro ha vissuto e lavorato nella zona." _Most of them lived or worked within the area._

"Emilio, arrivare qui!" _Emilio, get over here!_

"Mi dispiace, devo andare. Grazie così tanto però."_ I am sorry, I have to go. Thank you so much though._

"Certo. Addio". _Of course. Farewell._

"Addio". _Farewell._

John and Sherlock walked up, and the former asked, "I didn't know you spoke Italian."

She shrugged, "I learned when I was seven."

"That's fantastic."

Sherlock asked, "That nickname he said, Vatican Cameos. It's got a nice ring to it."

"What are you thinking dad?"


	4. A Scandel in Belgravia Part 1

An amazing two weeks later, the real world came calling. School had started up again, and cases needed to be addressed. She hadn't wanted to leave; Etheldrea had the most fun ever when in Italy. But, school wasn't so bad. Sure kids picked on her still, but everyone was now just a bit older, and instead chose to ignore her. She was fine with that, she ignored them anyway. So life got back underway, paddling along at a rather boring pace.

One Saturday, it was a lazy day for everyone and the three had been sleeping in. However, they were woken by the loud cry of Mrs. Hudson yelling, "Boys, you've got another one."

Etheldrea woke first, and grabbed the lilac dressing gown on her bedpost, and walked into the living room to see a portly man passed out on the floor. She called for John, started to roll him on his back, and at that moment he start to come to. John hurried down, and together they helped him into a chair. Sherlock finally came out from his room, dressed in nothing but a sheet, and looked the potential client over.

"Tell us from the start. Don't be boring." Sherlock commanded.

The man went on to describe what caused him to come here. His car had stalled half-way home. When he had been trying to restart it, he noticed a man standing over in a field some ways away. His car had backfired and distracted him, and when he looked back the man was lying down. He had gone up to him and found him dead, blood decorating the ground around his head, no one else around. He had called the police, and then made his way to Baker Street.

Sherlock took the case immediately, and went to grab his phone. He made a call to Lestrade, and told John a car would be picking him up in a while.

"Wait, just me?"

"Yes. This case can't be more than a six."

"What? A man, lying dead, no one else around?"

"No more than a six. You can go. I'll stay here. We agreed." He said with an added yawn.

John looked over at Etheldrea and she shook her head, "Sorry, you're on your own."

"Agreed? What did we agree on?"

"There's no reason to leave the flat for less than a seven."

"I don't remember this."

"Maybe you should pay more attention." Sherlock said, walking back to his room, "Call me when you're there, we'll set up a video call."

"When I'm gone, hit him on the head if he worries the client." He said to Etheldrea.

"Got it."

A short while later, the car arrived and John left. Etheldrea began to set up the call, and then read while she waited for John. When he finally popped up, she called for Sherlock and he came back, yawning, still in a sheet.

"_You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating?"_ John asked.

Sherlock muttered, "It's ok, I'm fine. Now, show me the stream."

"_I didn't really mean for you."_

"Look, this is a six. There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven, we agreed. Now go back, show me the grass."

"_When did we agree that?"_

"We agreed it yesterday. Stop! Closer."

"_I wasn't even at home yesterday, I was in Dublin."_

"It's hardly my fault you weren't listening. Etheldrea agreed to it, thought she would have told you." The doorbell rang, and he shouted, "Shut up!"

Etheldrea shook her head, "I assumed you would tell him."

"_Do you two just carry on talking when I'm away?"_

"I don't know, how often are you away? Now, show me the car that backfired."

"He does talk to himself a lot, I've noticed." Etheldrea said.

"_It's there."_

"If you're listening then I'm not talking to myself. That's the one that made the noise, yes?"

"_Yeah. If you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one. He wasn't shot, he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument, which then magically disappeared, along with the killer. That's got to be an eight, at least."_

"_You've got two more minutes; they want to know more about the driver." _A new voice said.

"Oh forget him, he's an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?"

"_I think he's a suspect."_

Sherlock leaned forward, "Pass me over."

"_All right, but there's a mute button and I will you it."_

"Up a bit! I'm not talking from down here! Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?"

"_He's trying to be clever. It's over-confidence." _

"Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own. The right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition, low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy, and you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?" Sherlock turned towards the client, "Don't worry, this is all just stupid."

"What did you say? Heart what?" the client asked worriedly.

Etheldrea swiped her hand on the side of Sherlock's head, "Client in the room."

"Not good?"

"I don't think so."

He went back to the call, "Go to the stream."

"_What's in the stream?"_

"Go and see."

Mrs. Hudson ran upstairs followed by three well suited men, "Sherlock, Drea dear, you weren't answering the doorbell."

The beard man pointed the other two to the bedrooms, "His rooms through the back, hers is past the door to the left, get them some clothes."

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry Mr. and Miss Holmes, you're coming with us."

As John tried to find out what was happening, the bearded man shut the laptop. A minute later, the men came back and laid the clothes in front of their owners. Neither of them moved from their spots.

"Please, where you two are going, you'll want to be dressed."

Etheldrea smirked as she looked at the men, and Sherlock was doing the same.

"I know exactly where we're going." He said as he stood up.

"Parade around Buckingham Palace in my pajamas? I wouldn't miss it for the world."

She followed behind Sherlock and sat proudly during the drive. When they arrived, they were shown to a parlor room. Etheldrea took a seat on one end of a couch and Sherlock took the other. They didn't have to wait long before John was shown in. He was confused, and looked to them for an answer, but they only shrugged their shoulders. John walked over, and took a seat in between the two of them. Still confused, he looked around, and then stopped his gaze on Sherlock.

"Are you wearing any pants?"

"No."

"Okay."

The silence that had been there since the two Holmes entered was broken when all three looked at each other and burst out laughing.

John cleared his throat, "At Buckingham Palace. Right. I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray. What are we doing you two? Seriously, what?"

"I don't know."

"Here to see the Queen?"

At that moment, Mycroft walked in.

"Oh, apparently yes."

They laughed even harder this time, earning a severe glare from him.

"Just once can you three behave like grown-ups?"

"We solve crimes, I blog about, she literally had to be dragged from a gondola, and he forgets his pants." John stated, "I wouldn't hold wouldn't hold out too much hope."

"I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."

"What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report, a bit obvious, surely?"

"Transparent."

"Time to move on then." Mycroft picked up the clothes and sighed, "We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Etheldrea, surely I shouldn't have to order you. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on."

"What for?"

"Your client."

"And my client is?"

"Illustrious in the extreme, and remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous." Another man stepped into the room, slightly familiar to Etheldrea.

"Mycroft."

"Harry. May I just apologize for the state of my little brother and niece?"

"A full time occupation I imagine. Etheldrea, I believe I've only met you once. You were about six or seven, and even then dressed in your nightwear."

Etheldrea was muddled for a moment, and then nodded as she remembered, "Oh yes. You had a meeting with Uncle Mycroft once."

"And this must be Dr. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers?"

"Hello, yes." He said shaking his hand.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

"Your employer?"

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the Aluminum Crutch."

"Thank you."

"And Mr. Holmes the younger, you look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." He walked away, "Mycroft I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good morning."

As he walked, Mycroft stomped his foot on the trailing sheet, causing it to loosen and fall. Sherlock jerked a bit and grabbed it before he was exposed.

"This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!"

"Get off my sheet!"

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away."

"I'll let you."

"Boys please." John intervened, "Not here."

"Who. Is. My. Client?" Sherlock spat out.

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God's sake! Put your clothes on! Etheldrea, you too."

Sherlock turned, and grabbed his clothes, and went towards a closed off room. Etheldrea did the same, and quickly changed into a set of jeans, a plain grey t-shirt, and her brown boots. Then she went back to the parlor room, and sat now next to John, across from Mycroft and Harry.

Sherlock entered soon after and sat down. Mycroft had called for some tea, and began to pour.

"I'll be mother." He said.

"And there is a whole childhood in nut shell." Sherlock replied.

There was an uncomfortable pause before Mycroft went on to describe the employer's case.

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name had arisen."

"Why? We have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?"

Harry asked, "People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr. Holmes?"

"Hmm, not to date anyone with a navy."

Mycroft said, "This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust."

Confused, John asked, "You don't trust your own secret service?"

Etheldrea smiled knowingly as her Uncle replied, "Naturally not. They all spy on people for money."

"I do think we have a timetable" Harry said.

"Yes of course."

Mycroft reached beside him and set a suitcase on his lap. He opened it up and pulled out some photographs. Etheldrea leaned over and looked at a rather stunning woman with dark hair and pale skin.

"What do you know about this woman?"

"Nothing whatsoever." Sherlock replied.

"Then you should be paying more attention. She's been the center of two political affairs in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?"

"Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman."

"Professionally?" John asked.

"There are many names for what she does, she prefers 'dominatrix'."

"Dominatrix." Sherlock muttered.

"Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

"How would you know?" Mycroft asked smugly.

This elicited a confused glace from Etheldrea. Unseen by her, Sherlock looked sharply at his brother, almost mentally telling him to shut up.

He continued, "She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website."

Mycroft handed over more photographs; all showed Miss Alder in very suggestive poses.

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?"

"You're very quick, Mr. Holmes." Harry said.

"Hardly difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?"

". . . A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say anymore at this time."

"You can't tell us anything?" John asked.

Mycroft sighed, "I can tell you it's a young person. A young female person."

Sherlock smiled, "How may photographs?"

"A considerable number, apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes, they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?"

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

"John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now."

"Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?"

"How?"

"Will you take the case?"

"What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, know when you are beaten."

"She doesn't want anything." Mycroft said, "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor."

"Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now, that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it? Hmm. Where is she?" Sherlock asked as he stood and grabbed his coat.

"Uh, in London, currently. She's staying-"

"Text me the details, I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry asked as they all followed him.

"No, I think I'll have the photographs."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think."

"I'll need some equipment of course."

"Anything you require, I'll have it sent over."

"Can I have a box of matches?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Or your cigarette lighter, either will do."

"I don't smoke."

"You, I know you don't, but your employer does."

Seeming shocked, Harry reached into his pocket and handed over a lighter, "We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes."

"I'm not the commonwealth."

John said, "And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you."

"Laters!" Sherlock called as he left.

* * *

Etheldrea looked up as a pair of trousers, followed by a shirt and jacket, hit the wall of her father's bedroom.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"I'm going into battle, John, I need the right armor."

Sherlock appeared at his door in a police constables uniform, "No."

A moment later, he walked into the kitchen wearing his regular clothes and grabbed his coat and scarf. He called for the other two and they went to get in a taxi.

"So, what's the plan?" John asked as they rode.

"We know her address."

"We just ring her doorbell?"

"Exactly. Just here, please." Sherlock said, paying the man once the car stopped.

"You didn't even change your clothes."

"Then it's time to add a splash of color."

The walked into an alley way, out of view from any other people. Sherlock took of his scarf and placed inside his coat pocket.

"Are we here?" John asked.

"Two streets away, but this will do."

"For what?"

"Punch me in the face."

"Punch you?"

"Yes, punch me, in the face. Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext."

"Oh for God sakes."

Sherlock roared forward, punching John straight on his cheek. John recovered and did the same to Sherlock. Etheldrea didn't attempt to intervene, wondering just exactly what her father had been thinking in provoking John like that.

"Thank you, that was-"

John attacked Sherlock once again knocking him to the ground, and then placing him in a choke hold.

"Okay. I think we're done now, John."

"You want to remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier. I killed people."

"You were a doctor."

"I had bad days!"

Etheldrea shouted, "Ok, enough. We have a case to do."

Reluctantly, John let go. From a new pocket, Sherlock pulled out a white slip of paper, and tucked it in his collar.

Etheldrea stared disbelievingly, "That's your disguise? A vicar? Really?"

"Well do you have anything better?"

"I'm pretty sure I can play a much more convincing damsel in distress than you."

"Oh please, you've hardly ever been a damsel in distress in your life."

"And when were you a vicar?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked away. A couple streets down, John and Etheldrea waited off to the side while Sherlock talked his way in. Despite his terrible performance, Sherlock managed to get in, and the two followed behind. Only, Etheldrea would come to find, getting in was the easy part.


	5. A Scandel in Belgravia Part 2

A red-headed woman watched them enter, tight-lipped. Etheldrea tried not to sigh and roll her eyes when she saw the performance didn't work, not that it would have to begin with.

"I saw it all happen." John said, "It's okay, I'm a doctor. Uh, this is my . . . niece. Now, have you got a first aid kit?"

"In the kitchen. Please."

Etheldrea gave a quick smile and walked in the direction she pointed. John followed while Sherlock was led to a parlor. John searched through cupboards and grabbed a bowl to fill with water. He also grabbed a napkin. Etheldrea looked around for any hidden compartments.

"She didn't buy the act, you won't need those." She muttered.

"Maybe Irene Adler will."

"Oh please, from what we've heard, she's very clever. Besides, even if the act was bought, we're practically an internet sensation. No doubt we're recognized."

"Well then, let's go see, shall we?"

John walked out of the room, Etheldrea following close behind.

"Right, this should do it."

The two walked into the room, stopping dead in their tracks when they saw who was with Sherlock. Irene Adler, as naked as anyone can be, was stood over him with the slip of white paper between her teeth. She glanced over at them, curiosity in her eyes.

John looked at the bowl, to Sherlock, to Irene, and back, utterly confused.

"I've missed something, haven't I?"

Irene stepped back and took the slip of out her mouth, "Please, sit down. Or if you'd like some tea, I can call the maid."

"I had some at the Palace."

"I know."

"Clearly."

Etheldrea was fairly unimpressed with the situation and went to take a seat by Sherlock. She took a glance at Irene, but to her surprise couldn't read anything. Her father didn't seem to read anything either, judging from his confused expression as he looked at the other three people in the room.

"I had tea, too, at the Palace. If anyone's interested." John said, trying to break the silence.

"Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait."

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?"

"No, I think you're damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself."

"Well you're not wrong." Etheldrea muttered, earning a glare from Sherlock.

"Hmm, and somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too."

She looked over at John and he laughed dryly, "Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all, a napkin?"

"Why? Are you feeling exposed?"

"I don't think John knows where to look."

"No, I think he knows exactly where. Not sure about you."

She stood up and strode over to stand in front of him. John forces his eyes on Irene's face.

He clears his throat, "There is a young person in the room."

Etheldrea scoffs, "I'm nearly seventeen years old, and also a girl. Last time I checked, I have the same parts. Not very interesting."

"If I wanted to look at naked women, I'd borrow John's laptop."

"You do borrow my laptop."

"I confiscate it."

Sherlock stands up and turns around, holding out his coat. Irene takes it and puts it on, and then sits down right next to Etheldrea. Sherlock walks near the fireplace, watching carefully.

"You, my dear Miss Holmes, are a bit different then what I was expecting."

"How so?"

"I've been told you're a carbon copy of dear old dad, but that's not very true." She said as she brushed aside a strand of Etheldrea's hair, "Straighter hair, wider eyes, and less of a touch for dramatics. But that's not all, is it? How old are you dear?"

" . . . Sixteen."

"Shame. Well, never mind, we've got better things to talk about." She turned to Sherlock, "Now, tell me, I need to know. How was it done?"

"What?"

"The hiker with the bashed-in head, how was he killed?"

Everyone was confused now.

"That's not why I'm here."

"No, no, no, you're here for the photographs, but that's never going to happen. And since we're here just chatting anyway."

"That story's not been on the news yet, how do you know about it?" John asked, accusingly.

"I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes."

"Oh." He nodded, taking a seat on the other side of Etheldrea, "And you like policemen?"

"I like detective stories. And detectives. Brainy's the new sexy."

Sherlock stuttered, "Positionofthecar- Uh, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire, that and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head, that's all you need to know."

"Ok, tell me, how was he murdered?"

"He wasn't."

Etheldrea rolled her eyes, "Can you please stop showing off?"

"Shut up. You're as much as a show off as I am."

"You don't think it was murder?" Irene asked.

"I know it wasn't."

"How?"

"The same way I know the victim was an excellent sportsman, recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."

"Okay, but how?" Irene asked.

"So they are in this room. Thank you." Etheldrea let out a snort at that earning another glare, "John, man the door, let no one in. Etheldrea, if you're going to be annoying, go with him."

She rolled her eyes and followed John as he stepped out. John looked around and spotted a magazine a counter near the room.

"See," Etheldrea said quietly, "That is how you act."

"I'll admit, it was better. You could've done theater." He joked.

"Becoming a character, and manipulation are two different things. The fore alarm is up there, by the way. And here are the match's."

She pulled out the box Sherlock had given her earlier and tossed it to John. He took the magazine and rolled it up, and then lit the end on fire, letting it burn a bit and blew it out. The smoke curled up, and after a moment set the alarm blaring. Etheldrea covered her ears as John tried to turn off the alarm and douse the smoking magazine.

"_Alright, John, you can turn it off now."_ Sherlock's muffed call came, _"I said you can turn it off now."_

"Give me a minute." John called back.

From behind them, footsteps of four men came running down the stairs. There was a loud crack as one shot the fire alarm, silencing it. Then two of them grabbed John and Etheldrea and forced them to stand outside the room, hands over their mouths.

"_I'd tell you the code right now but you know what? I already have."_ Irene was saying.

At this, the men barged into the room, forcing John and Etheldrea to the floor. The leader of the group, an older blonde man, pointed a gun at Sherlock and ordered everyone about.

"Hands behind your head, on the floor, keep it still!" his voice was American.

"Sorry Sherlock." John said.

"Miss Adler, on the floor!"

"Do you want me on the floor too?" Sherlock asked.

"No, sir, I want you to open the safe."

"American. Interesting. Why would you care?"

"Sir, the safe, now, please."

"I don't know the code."

"We've been listening, she said she told you."

"Well if you've been listening, you'll know she didn't."

"I'm assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I'm assuming you didn't, Mr. Holmes."

"For God's sake," John shouted, "She's the one who knows the code, ask her!"

"Yes, sir, she also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman."

"Mr. Holmes doesn't-"

"Shut up! One more word out of you, just one, and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship. Mr. Archer, at the count of three, shoot Miss Holmes, and then Dr. Watson."

"What?" John and Etheldrea both asked.

Etheldrea turned her head back, and was greeted with the safety releasing. She turned back and looked up at her dad, searching for any sign that he knew what to do.

"I don't know the code." He said, absolutely serious.

The gun touched her neck, and she sighed, "I think I asked six months, not four and a half."

The leader shouted, "Shut up! . . . One."

"I don't know the code." Sherlock said again, anger increasing.

"Two."

"She didn't tell me, I don't know it!"

"I'm prepared to believe you, any second now."

"Three!"

"No stop!"

The leader raised a hand to Archer, and the gun was lifted off her neck. She could see it, just out of the corner of her eye on her left. One nicely time distraction and she'd have it knocked out his hands. Until then, she watched her dad as he calmly turned, and typed in a key code. The buttons beeped, and at the last one, there were a couple beeps and the sound of the safe unlocking.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Open it, please."

Sherlock twisted the handle, and then looked back to Irene.

Then, before he opened it, he shouted, "Vatican cameos!"

Immediately, the three ducked, and then a gun shot went off. In less than five seconds, Etheldrea had grabbed the gun, pulled the guy forward to the floor, and smashed his head on the floor, knocking him unconscious. She emptied the gun and tossed it on the floor, and then looked to Sherlock for what to do next.

"That was fun," she said, "We should use phrases more often."

Sherlock looked at Irene who had one of the men in front of her, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all." she replied, and then swung and knocked the man unconscious.

"He's dead." John said, checking over his now dead captor.

"Thank you. You were very observant. I'm flattered."

"Don't be." Sherlock said, as that's who she was talking to.

"Observant? Flattered?" John asked quietly to Etheldrea.

"Safe code - bra size."

He blushed, "Ok."

"There'll be more of them; they'll be keeping an eye on the building." Sherlock said, walking out of the room.

John followed him, but Etheldrea stayed to keep an eye on Irene. A moment later, she heard gunshots coming from the front of the house, and then both of them came back.

"Check the rest of the house, see how they got in." Sherlock said, pointing at her.

She followed John upstairs, and they entered a bedroom on the right. The maid was lying on the ground, either dead or unconscious. John looked her over and called for Sherlock. He stood and looked around the room. The bathroom window was open, and there were scuff marks on the sill.

"Must have come in this way." John said when the other two members of the party entered.

"Clearly." Sherlock said.

"It's alright, she just out cold." John said to Irene.

"Well god knows she used to that. There's a back door, better check it Dr. Watson and Miss Holmes."

After a nod form Sherlock he said, "Sure."

Etheldrea followed, matching her steps with John, and then pausing at the second door, listening in on the two in the bedroom.

"You're very calm." Sherlock said, "Well your booby trap did just kill a man."

"He would have killed me. It was self-defense in advance."

Etheldrea heard her dad give a quiet cry, "What? . . . What is that? What-"

Next she heard a slap, and Irene say, "Give it to me. Now."

Etheldrea hurried into the room, and saw her dad on the floor, Irene trying to get the phone from him. Sherlock's words were slurring together, but he wouldn't give up the phone. On the floor, she saw a needle with an unidentified liquid in it. She could only piece together what happened. Etheldrea stood in front of her father, ready to fight Irene.

"Oh for goodness sake." Irene muttered, reaching right and grabbing a riding crop, "I really don't want to do this."

Irene swung forward and slapped Etheldrea across the face. Etheldrea grabbed Irene's wrist and tried to push her back, but she was stronger than anticipated and through her to the floor. Etheldrea reached over and grabbed the phone from her dad. She stood up, clutching it tightly and looked around for escape.

"Drop it." Irene ordered, attempting to hit Etheldrea again, "I said drop it!"

"I heard you, but I'm not listening." She said as she tucked the phone inside her jacket.

"It won't take much for me to grab it." Irene said.

"Oh I know, this just lets me focus more on running."

Etheldrea pivoted on her heel and ran into the bathroom. She climbed out the window and ran down the fire-escape. She ran down the alley and took a right, heading for the main roads. She started walking down the street, and ducked into a clothing shop. To her surprise, no one was after, no American men, or even Irene. She waited a few minutes longer before walking out and walking down the road. She couldn't go back to Baker Street just yet, too obvious. And what was the point in going back to Irene's place when John could handle everything?

She paused by an alley way, looking down it because she was absolutely positive she had seen someone watching her, but then they turned around a corner. She could do the smart thing and keep walking or the curious thing and check it out. Conscious had her walk, but she didn't get far when a man in a suit was walking straight towards her. Calmly, she turned and sped up back the way she had come.

From that direction, too, was another suited man, and the one behind her was catching up. That's when she noticed the entire area was deserted, as soon as she had turned the corner, the area was blocked. Even the road was clear of cars, and had one more man advancing toward her. Her only way of escape was the alley way where she had seen someone watching her, and for all she knew it could be another man in a suit.

"Miss Holmes, I suggest you stop, now!" the one on the street called.

She turned and ran down the alley, turning a corner and ran into-

"Miss Adler?" Etheldrea asked.

She was still in her father's coat and nothing else. But in her hand she carried a gun, and with her other, held it out to Etheldrea.

"We have to run."

Hearing the advancing men, she didn't hesitate, and the too ran off, turning a corner and getting onto a main road. Luck was with them when a big crowd of people were crossing, and the girls hurried to follow. The men were trapped on the other side. Irene took the lead, and turned left down another alley. They ducked and dodged until finally, they were sure no one was following them.

Etheldrea bent forward, hands on her knees, catching her breath. She had let her guard slip for just a moment, and that was enough for Irene to shove into the wall. Etheldrea didn't have enough recovery time before she felt a hand slip into her jacket and pull out the phone.

"Ah, thank you dear." Irene said happily, "Now tell that little posh thing the pictures are safe with me. They're not for blackmail, just for insurance. Besides, I might want to see her again."

Then she was gone, the phone in her hands, and leaving Etheldrea on the ground feeling humiliated.


End file.
